Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
Angel leaned back against the solid comfort of Michael’s broad, muscular
chest. She loved his hands on her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “Something’s been eating
at you all evening. Did Miriam or Ruth say something to upset you?”
“Not on purpose.” She didn’t want to tell him about Paul. She didn’t
want to tell him how much words hurt. She had denied their power all her
life, but each name cut. “It’s just that I’m so happy,” she said, her voice shaking.
“I can’t get over feeling that I don’t deserve this.”
“And you think I do?”
“What have you ever done to be ashamed of in your life, Michael? Not a
blessed thing.”
“I’ve committed murder.” He felt the shock go through her at his admission.
She drew away from him and turned, eyes wide.
“You?”
“A hundred times. When I came back for you the first time and saw
what Magowan had done to you. And Duke. I’ve killed him a hundred times
in a hundred ways, each worse than the last.”
She relaxed, understanding. “Thinking about doing something wrong
isn’t the same thing as doing it.”
“Isn’t it? Where’s the real difference? The same desire is there, feeding on
itself and me.” He tugged her braid lightly. “Don’t you see? Neither of us
deserves this. It’s got nothing to do with whether we do or not. Every blessing
comes down from the Father, not in payment for good done, but as a gift.”
Michael saw that her eyes flickered at his first mention of God. He felt
her growing resistance. God, the foul word. God, the being that had no
meaning in her life other than retribution for sins committed, some not her
own. She believed God was wrath and that he would continually punish her
for living a life she was forced into by a seedy old drunk who didn’t know
what he was doing. God was unmerciful and enjoyed inflicting pain.
How could he make her see that God the Father was the only escape she
had from living in hell when the only father she had ever known had wanted
her ripped out of her mother’s womb and thrown away?
“Show me this Father of yours, Michael,” she said, unable to keep the
edge out of her voice.
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